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Rudi wheeled at Delia's scream. Another armored man had her, his left arm clamping her close behind his shield and the right holding the edge of a sword to her neck; he recognized the china blue eyes-Joris Stein. None of them had noticed his approach from the rear.
"Bravo, Tiph," he said as she freed her blade with a jerk and wheeled, poised in a perfect stance. "You're good, and I'd be the last man to deny it. Checkmate, though. This black-haired piece of peasant ass is your squeeze, isn't she? Can't fault your taste; she smells fine. It's true what they say; blonds like us have more fun."
Tiphaine straightened, flicking the sword and dagger to the sides, shedding a spatter of red from the blades; she was panting deep and slow, sweat and red blood ru
"I should have known," she said. "That was always your idea of misdirection; have somebody else grab them by the nose while you snuck up to corncob them."
"And you were always too subtle for your own good, Tiph. This time my approach worked, though, didn't it?"
"Not quite yet," she said. "What's the word, Joris?"
The knight's face moved; you could tell he was smiling behind the coif. "Simple. I'm here for the witch-brat, dead or alive-preferably alive. The Lord Protector wants him, and as a loyal vassal you'll hand him over, right? Do that and you get your fucktoy back intact. I think that's important to you, Tiph; you were always the sentimental type."
"Compared to you, I suppose I am: which is a judgment on both of us, when you think about it."
"And you get to keep the princess, so you don't look too bad."
"You've got a written decree?" she asked, her voice that cool water-flowing-on-rock tone again.
She walked towards him as she spoke, with her hands out to either side and the blades pointing down, looking at him from beneath pale brows with eyes the color of ice at the edge of a winter pond. Each step was delicately precise. Calmly, she went on: "Somehow I don't think you do, seeing as you just pitched into us without warning, and I don't think those were Household regulars. Not unless Conrad's letting the standards slip."
"Of course there's nothing in writing. And not one step closer. I know exactly how far you can lunge, all right? We sparred often enough."
"Where did you get that conroi of so-called men-at-arms, though? Clown school?" she asked, halting, seemingly casual and relaxed.
Joris shrugged, and Delia took a sharp breath as the sharp edge dimpled the white skin of her throat. A tiny, slow trickle of blood started.
"They were the best I could get on short notice, for a job like this, who wouldn't ask too many questions. Still, they were good enough to soak up crossbow bolts. And now that you and your trusty vassals have conveniently killed them, I don't even have to split the money."
"Well, I do have an explicit order from the consort to keep Mathilda and Rudi here. Orders from my liege. Who's also yours, last time I looked."
Joris tensed, and his voice went from friendly conversational to a snarl for an instant: "You always got the plum jobs-she always favored you and Kat! It wasn't right!"
"Well, Joris, that was because she knew if a situation like this ever did come up, you'd be the one who'd rat her out for a higher offer."
"I suppose you can't be bought?" he spat.
"No, you're the one who can't be bought, Joris. That's the problem. You can only be rented. And she's not going to be happy with you for putting her daughter right in the middle of a ru
"That's why we didn't do any shooting."
"Oh, that'll make it all right, then."
"The Lord Protector's orders take precedence," the knight said, cheerful again. "Also, unless you hand the witch-brat over-I'll be leaving him to the Hounds, by the way, so the Lord Protector gets a pass from the missus-I'm going to cut your little bed-buddy's throat, and I don't think you're into necrophilia, right? Not really practical considering the anatomy."
"No, you're not going to do that, Joris," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because if you did kill her, you still wouldn't get the boy, and I'd kill you very slowly instead of quickly."
"I'll take my chances," Joris said. "I wouldn't like to face you on even terms, Lady d'Ath, I admit it. You're fucking u
Mathilda spoke, her voice hot with anger. "You'd better let her go, Sir Joris."
The blue eyes flickered to her without the least particle of attention being diverted from Tiphaine. "This is a very bad woman, Princess," he said. "They both are. You'll understand when you're older."
The girl's temper overflowed and she stamped her foot, immediately regretting the gesture, face flushing brick red and burying her hands in her hair. "I'm nine, not four, you oaf-nearly ten! I'm old enough to remember your face and I'll see you broken on the wheel someday unless you let her go!"
Joris laughed, but there was the slightest edge of uncertainty in it. Rudi knew what he must do. He shouted as he ran in, and the bow was in his hands like a spear. Like a spear he thrust it up at the knight's face, aiming for his right eye. The response was automatic, when the shield was pi
Skri
Tiphaine's sword came down across Rudi's body, like a slanting rafter. It bent under the impact of Joris' heavier blade, but the fine steel sprang back and the man's weapon buried itself in the dirt. Joris wrenched at it with desperate strength, and in the same instant used his shield in a slamming blow against her. That wasn't as effective as it might have been, with a suddenly screeching and madly clinging Delia on his arm, but Joris Stein was very strong. And with Tiphaine d'Ath at less than arm's reach he was striking for his life, as a man might lash out when he discovered an adder coiled under his pillow.
She had leapt headlong to cover Rudi's body, with no choice but to sacrifice balance. Now the double blow of shield and sword knocked her own blade from her hand, and sent her rolling half a dozen paces with Delia falling on her with a squawk.
Rudi lay on the ground, clutching as if it were his mother as well as the Mother. Black wings seemed to flap about him, gauzy as veils, more solid and vaster than worlds. A deep thudding came from the soil as the blade was wrenched free and rose to kill, like a great heart throbbing:
Crack.
The hooves would have killed an unarmored man. They hurt Joris Stein badly, even in the diamond instant of concentration, when every dream of for-tune and rank seemed to be glittering just beyond the point of his sword. He dropped as the great black mare reared again, her forefeet milling like a deadly circle of steel war-hammers, bugling out her challenge. Curled beneath his shield he felt the frame crack and the tough plywood shatter as the pile-driver feet stamped downward with half a ton of bone and muscle behind them, the loops coming free of the i
"Epona!"
Rudi shouted it, a trumpet-call of rage and joy. The horse dropped to all fours and trotted over to him, and he threw his arms around her neck, lost in the grassy scent as she nuzzled him against her side.